


Core Requirements for Business Majors

by Notawiseacre



Series: The Jedi University of Tylessa [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, College, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Hiitian (Star Wars), Hutts (Star Wars), Ithorians (Star Wars), No Romance, No Smut, Professors, Snee (Star Wars), Twi’lek (Star Wars), University, Wookiees (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawiseacre/pseuds/Notawiseacre
Summary: Huttese is known as the language of gangsters and criminals.  But it’s also the galaxy’s most common trade language, so it’s a required part of the Business Major degree plan.  Not all students are happy about that.
Series: The Jedi University of Tylessa [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799590
Kudos: 3





	Core Requirements for Business Majors

On the top floor of the Administration Building, several faculty offices featured balconies and roof access. This was because those offices were reserved for professors of avian species. Several decades ago, the Galactic Civil Liberties Union had brought a lawsuit against the University of Tylessa, contending that its avian faculty lacked the accessibility accommodations necessary to their biology, and within the year the balconies, wide doorways, and turbolifts to the roof were in place. Offices were enlarged or combined, allowing comfortable room for wings (large appendages on most species, though the two tiny Snee faculty at the time found the unwieldiness of their colleagues endlessly entertaining, and often based pranks upon it).

Dr. Klin’qui, the Hiitian assistant professor of business, had not yet joined the faculty of the University of Tylessa during the brouhaha over the balconies. However, she appreciated hers: not only did it offer a truly stunning view of the Ithorian Gardens (a carefully-tended preserve of native plants and animals, funded by the Ithorian Botanical Endowment), but it also allowed her to come and go without needing to squeeze her wings through the hallways. Whenever she tried to do that, she invariably lost a few of her bronze-colored feathers against the walls and left them scattered along her path, which was embarrassing, and also swept up many dust bunnies off the tiles and got them stuck in the tips of her primaries, which was annoying.

In Dr. Klin’qui’s opinion, mammalian species must not preen themselves often enough, considering the amount of shed fur and hair they left on the floors. She saw far more of Dr. Charubac’s fur than of the Wookie hyperengineering professor himself.  
At the moment, however, she was not thinking about dust bunnies, not even Wookie-scale ones, or even about her balcony (except insofar as she hoped she would shortly be able to use it to leave, and go home). She was having her office hours, and one of her more difficult advisees had just dropped in only a handful of minutes before they ended, objecting to one of the requirements of his degree plan.

Dr. Klin’qui had finished teaching the day’s classes, and had already been in her office for two hours. The smooth feathers along her back (bronze-colored on her, though they would have been bright scarlet on a male of her race) clung uncomfortably to the back of her desk chair, and the wrists of her wings ached against the wingrests. She could stand up and stretch her arms and legs, and walk around to keep her rear from going numb, but even with the enlarged office floorplan, she could really only stretch her wings properly outside. She leaned forward, folding her hands (avian claws neatly trimmed), and addressed the student.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but the Business Major degree plan very specifically requires at least nine semester hours of Huttese. I can’t let you count knowledge of a different language instead.”

The student was a Twi’lek, and he had his pale green lekku, decorated with the copper rings of his clan, draped around his shoulders. The tips of them twitched in annoyance, and Dr. Klin’qui could feel indignation, threatening to edge into outrage, practically pouring off him. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “I’m already fluent in Galactic Basic and Twi’leki, and I really think that ought to be enough.”

Dr. Klin’qui took a deep breath, filling her deep avian ribcage until it ached, then exhaled slowly. “Huttese is the most common galactic trade language,” she said. “You can get a long way with Basic and Twi’leki, but to really function fully in business, you need at least some familiarity with Huttese too. That’s why the Galactic Council for Jedi Higher Education requires it, and even if it didn’t, the university would, since our goal is to give you the best possible education.”

The student crossed his arms, and his lekku tightened closer around his shoulders. “This is a Jedi university,” he said. “It isn’t as if I won’t be able to just read anyone that I can’t talk to, anyway.”

Dr. Klin’qui took another deep breath, and concentrated for a moment on keeping the smooth feathers on her head and neck from rising into hackles out of pure frustration. “You’ll learn more about that in Business Negotiation 1402, but even so, reading an associate’s emotional or intentional state is not really a substitute for being able to converse verbally.”

”If I ever did need Huttese, I could get a translator.” He paused, then burst out, “I’m not planning to be some kind of crime lord, for Twi’kith’s sake! I have no interest in learning their filthy language, and I don’t think I need to. I think I should be able to get credit for the languages I already know.” In an uncontrolled, probably unintentional Force outburst, he caused a stylus to leap from the ceramic pen mug on the desk and embed itself point-first in the wall.

Dr. Klin’qui decided to treat herself to a plate of her favorite roasted bumblebeetles in smoked sauce after this. She felt she’d earned it.

“I’m very sorry,” she said firmly (and, internally, hopefully). “If you believe the degree requirements are unfair, you’re more than welcome to bring it up to the Faculty Senate for discussion.” ( _Please don’t do that, please don’t do that, please don’t do that, the committee has more than enough to do…_ ) “Until that happens, though, there’s honestly nothing I can do. I’m sor—”

“But I’m graduating next semester!” His voice was accusatory, as though Dr. Klin’qui was to blame. She was not, as she had been trying to get him to register for Huttese for almost two years now. “I can’t take three semesters of Huttese at the same time!”

_I think I’ll spring for dessert too_. “I’ll register you for Huttese 1101 for next semester, and then you should be able to take 1102 during the summer term. Then it won’t delay you as much.”

The student seethed, the skin of his lekku quivering, and his outrage beginning to make Dr. Klin’qui’s skin crawl. The stylus he had driven into the wall vibrated. It was time to end the interview. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?” ( _Please say no, please say no…)_

“I think I’ll just go talk to the Department Chair,” he said, glaring. “Maybe he will be better at understanding what my education needs at this stage.”

“You’re welcome to do that, but he’ll say the same—”  
  
The student departed, slamming the door behind him.

Dr. Klin’qui smacked her forehead once against the surface of her desk, then, with a flick of her finger, she sent out a Force tendril and whisked the stylus back into the mug. Then she picked up her office comlink, dialed for the commissary, and when the droid voice answered, said, “One plate of roasted bumblebeetles in smoked sauce, and one slice of moonsmelon cake with spiced whipped cream. And one glass of Bespin Red.”


End file.
